


Therapy

by makingitwork



Series: Chase/House [3]
Category: House M.D.
Genre: Age Difference, DomHouse, Happy Ending, House is a terrible therapist, M/M, Mentions of Non/Con, SubChase, he like abused his son, mostly consensual, parts of mildly dubious consent, really bad Rowan Chase
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-08
Updated: 2014-07-08
Packaged: 2018-02-08 00:29:33
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,156
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1919895
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/makingitwork/pseuds/makingitwork
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Fuck it. Chase never should have gone to House for help. He's the worst therapist he's ever had. </p><p>But dammit. </p><p>He gets results.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Therapy

Chase was interesting. 

House knows how he can get around a puzzle, obsessive, infatuated, sometimes downright cruel. But Chase is...something else. With his gold hair, and diamond eyes, cheeky grin, and sly smirk that most of the time he tries to hide because he wants to be well-liked. His expensive but incredibly ugly ties, form fitting trousers and always polished shoes. This little rich kid shouldn't be interesting. Oh but he is. So interesting. In the way that he sucks up to House, which should be tacky and repelling, but he's so plain about it, he admits it aloud to Foreman, Cameron, and even House. He barely questions House's judgement, and he'll put his job on the line for him. And when he does question House, he does so only when he's sure, and even then he approaches it in the best way possible. He flatters House, and then gently offers up his diagnosis as a backup plan. 

House finds out that Chase is a puzzle to be solved, the day that he punches him. 

"House! We have to stop the amputation! I know what's wrong!" He cries, leaping in front of the older man, blocking his path, eyes wide, confident and energetic "I know w-"

"Get out of my way." House snarls, and it's only because of the Vicodin withdrawal that he's angry at another theory. Normally, he would never turn down the opportunity to hear an alternative, especially from Chase, who's eyes are sparkling.

"House! Wait!" And he places his hands firmly on House's shoulders to stop him, and House has no patience, he swings his fist, catches him right on the jaw with a satisfying crunch, and then he's fall, and hitting his head on the floor. But he looks up at House, ignoring it "She's allergic to sunlight." He whispers, eyes flickering down to the ground in an oddly submissive gesture. "It's causing the skin lacerations, she got better when we moved her out of the room with the windows facing the gardens." He gets to his feet, hands cradling his jaw, hair flopping into his forehead, and darts off- to stop the amputation. 

After, when House is back to normal, he sits in his office in the dark, and thinking about the encounter. 

A number of things are odd. 

The way that Chase didn't flinch when his fist started for him. He knows for a fact that the young Australian has good reflexes, he wouldn't be such a good Doctor if he hadn't. He knows he's strong, used to be a surfer, he could have ducked out of the way, or been brazen and clasped House's fist, and stopped him. But he didn't. He stood there, turned his face slightly so his nose wouldn't get caught, presented his jaw.

Presented it. That's...puzzling. Why would he be used to being hit? He was handsome, too popular to have been bullied in school, didn't get drunk enough to get into bar fights, tried to hard to please everyone to have any real enemies. 

And then there's the fact that he didn't get angry. It seemed as though he forgave House instantly, and then proceeded to tell him about the case. He was submissive, dropped his eyes, so it was obvious he wasn't challenging House. And then he'd disappeared, not waited around for an apology or even an explanation. 

The next day, House limps in, and his three little musketeers are there. He makes some crude jokes about the case, and then demands theories. Chase offers it up first, like a puppy, wanting to impress his owner. And most of the time, he does. But now, House can only look at him. "It could be glycoma, rare with someone this young, but it matches all of the symptoms."

The bruise is deep, and ugly and blue and marrs his otherwise perfect face. House can't help but let his gaze linger at it. "You get that looked that?" he asks, and it's the closest Chase will get to 'I'm sorry', but the Australian surprises him again, and damn if that doesn't do something. He loves being surprised, because it so rarely happens. 

"I'm fine," he answers simply, which tells House that he didn't get it looked at. He hasn't covered it up with makeup, but he's not looking for pity. He's encouraging everyone to ignore it. 

Interesting. 

House buys a white board for his apartment, gets some pens out and writes the symptoms. "Abused before? Won't fight back? Mommy Issues? Daddy Issues? Eager to please? Submissive?" He observes Chase at work, waits a few weeks until the bruises fade, and then decides he has to find out. He invites him to his apartment after work one Friday, and feeds him cereal, which he eats happily, not complaining. They watch game shows, and together, in the hypothetical, win over $2 million. It becomes normal for them to hang out after work, and another thing that goes down on the board hidden in his bedroom is "Easy to Adapt?"

The 12th time House invites Chase over, it's a Saturday night, and Chase is lounging on his sofa, lying long ways, head on the arm rest, legs on the other one. A bowl of cereal on his chest, a bottle of barely touched beer on the floor, as he laughs at the muted TV shows subtitles. House sits on the armchair, pursing his lips. "Robbie," he teases the nickname "Do you know why I invite you over here?"

Chase looks baffled, he laughs, taking another bite and shrugs "You buy too much cereal and don't wanna waste it?" he seems so relaxed and carefree, House almost doesn't wanna push it. But he's too curious. This boy is too interesting. 

"You're like a 16 year old," House murmured, pointing to the cereal bowl "Which means you didn't get to eat cereal when you were in Australia, but how would you? You were a rich little boy who was given hot food for breakfast made by their nanny, not your fault." Chase doesn't seem bothered, he's used to House by now, so he takes another bite, and places the bowl on the coffee table after some stretching. He rests his hands beneath his head, looking up at his boss. "I invite you over here, because you and I, are very much alike."

"Really?" Chase chuckles "How's that? We both like General Hospital?"

"You like General Hospital?"

"Yeah, there's also an Australian version."

"Bet that sucks."

"You'd win that bet."

House has to bite back a smile, before he stands and hobbles out of the room, reappearing moments later, with a large whiteboard on wheels, he holds the marker in his hand, standing beside it, and Chase watches in amused fascination as he reads the words scrawled on here. "You didn't flinch when I hit you, so it got me thinking, who's hit you before?"

"Woah." Chase sits up, becoming serious, almost angry, as this finally dawns upon him. "What the hell is this?" he demands, and of course, he had every right to know why House has listed his qualities on the board, under the title 'Symptoms'. For gods sakes, being eager to please someone wasn't a sign of a disease. His eyes flicker from the board to House, and then back to the board, examining how old some of the writing is- for Christs sakes, how long has House been doing this?!

"Have you had sex with Cameron?" 

The question catches him off guard, and House watches him closely, examining him. "What?! No! We're not dating!"

"And you'd have to be dating to have to fuck?"

"Stop! D-don't..." he looks around as though someone might hear them "Don't talk about it like that." He hisses, drawing his knees up to his chest, subconsciously protecting himself, shielding himself from foul language as though the nuns from the monastery are gonna come with their ankle length skirts with their berating words any second. 

"Oh, I'm sorry, should I be calling it 'making love'?" He turns to the board, and scribbles down something. Chase reads it when House's hand moves away

"Uncomfortable talking about sex?!" he exclaims "I am not!" House rolls his eyes, as though the stammer in Chase's voice is proof enough. Chase crosses his legs, picking up the beer bottle, huffing, but House takes it as a good sign, he's not storming out. "What do you want House?" he asks tiredly, taking a deep swig. House is almost sympathetic. 

"Are you gay?"

"Would that be a symptom?"

"Are you?"

Chase stared at him levelly. Before glancing back at the board, and then back down to the beer in his hand. "You already know the answer to that." He says quietly. House nods, and jots it down, crossing off 'mommy issues'. 

"Alright," he sighs "So...I know for a fact you sleep with women, but you're not attracted to them. So you're ashamed. Now, that's either because of that very religious and strict catholic upbringing you had...but then that doesn't link to the pleasantry with violence. And you know how I hate coincidences. So...who hit you?" Chase glances at something on the board, and then looks away, and House eagerly looks for which symptom caught his attention. The top right hand corner, there reads 'Daddy Issues'. Why would that be a- Oh. House freezes. Oh. 

Oh.

Holy shit. 

He sits down in his chair, throwing the board marker away and swallows "Wanna...talk about it?" Dammit, he feels like Wilson. Actually, not a bad idea, Wilson might be better here, he's had tons of practise listening to his ex-wives talk about what a terrible person he is. House wonders briefly whether Wilson actually did listen, or gave them that stupid patronising face like he's indulging a little kid before he teaches them about the lessons of life. Probably not. Wilson reserves that for House, he loves his wives, all of them. Hell, he's loved every stripper he's ever laid eyes on. But back to Chase.

"You won't stop bugging me till I do," he sighs, setting his beer on the coffee table, and lying along to sofa again, hands clasped on his front, he closes his eyes "I'm gonna pretend you're a therapist. Pretend to be one, alright? It'll make this a whole lot easier if you're not being you." House nods wordlessly, and watches, so completely intruiged. "My dad was...messed up." He beings with a sigh "You already know I hate him. He used to...when we were alone in the house and my mom was out at a bar, he would come into my bedroom and, he would..." Chase breathes deeply "Tell me to get on my knees." He gestures with his hand "I'm sure you can slot it what happened next."

House almost can't speak. He hadn't known it was anywhere near that bad. "How old were you when it started?"

"The oldest memory I have of it, I was 8. I think that's when it started. He...he was crying, and he was saying that mom couldn't do anything right." A tear falls from his closed eyes, and House bites back to instinct to swipe it away "When I was 12, I didn't want to bend over for him anymore. I told him that it hurt. And that he had no right. I said...get the fuck away from me." He shook his head "That was a stupid mistake. He was...so angry. He taught me how to take a punch." Ah, there it is, pieces of the puzzle slotting into place, only...it doesn't feel as good as it normally does. "When I was 17, I realised I was gay. I was watching porn, and I just...you know, clicked, but..." he laughed, berated and dry "I thought I was a sick freak. I was only gay because of what he did to me. Because I was so young when I first learnt how to give a bl-" he cuts himself off, eyes burning "I told Father Riley about it. And he told me to join the priesthood, be secluded from the world. Get away from it. But he found me. Told me that there was no point repenting, the Lord had seen what I was like, and it was too late for me."

"You're dad is an incestuous, paedophile rapist, Chase," House says as gently and as matter of factly as he can. 

Chase nods, opening his eyes and they glisten in the dim lighting of House's apartment "He use to call me his pretty little boy,"

House can't find the words, so he stands, places a hand on Chase's shoulder in the closest he can get to comforting him, stands there for a long while and goes to bed. 

...  
...  
...

He wakes up hours later, and pads to the kitchen, and almost has a heart attack when he hears gentle snoring from the sofa. He turns on the spot, eyes wide with shock, and sure enough, there on his sofa, is Chase. He's on his side, curled up towards the green cushions, he's not wearing a shirt, and he's stripped off his jeans, and he's only in his boxers, and...fuck.

He looks like something out of a magazine. 

All perfectly, sun kissed skin, flawless, lithe, muscled torso, long, biteable neck, sleep ruffled blond hair, pink lips parted, relaxed and beautiful. House isn't sure what to make of it. Chase has never stayed over night before. But there he is...and is that...House's brown blazer tucked up beside him, he's hugging it like a teddy bear and House is just...at a loss for words. 

"Chase!" He yells, and the Australian groans, snuggling deeper into the cushions

"5 minutes," he slurs 

"Chase, the apartment is on fire." He lies, and still, he only murmurs, eyes still closed. House rolls his eyes, heading over to him, and nudging his shoulder “Robert.” He demands in a stern voice “Get up this instant.”

The result is insane. 

Chase slides off the sofa smoothly, landing gracefully on his knees, and his hands go to the hem of House's trousers, fumbling for the edge "Yes, Daddy," he whispers, eyes still closed and sleepy. House knows what this is. He's triggered memories for Chase. Called him by his first name, let him remember what use to happen, and House guesses that this was how his father would wake him up.

He shivers when Chase tugs down his pants, and reveals his half hard dick. 

House tries to convince himself it was just morning wood, but he knows that he got hard as soon as he saw Chase, he looks down in part awe as Chase licks a stripe under his dick and he groans. He thinks about letting Chase do this. Of taking advantage of him like this. It has it's appeal. Chase would be easy to manipulate, he already sees House as a father figure, he didn't mind when he hit him, surely he wouldn't mind this. And as tempting as it is, to see Chase's pretty pink lips stretch to take him, he steps back, pulls up his trousers, and lifts Chase back onto the sofa, where he wakes him up properly. 

"Huh?" Chase blinks owlishly, looking up at House, blinking at the sudden light, he rubs his eyes, shaking his head "What am I doing here?"

"I think you forgot to go home when I left you here crying on my couch last night,"

"Oh." Chase sits up, and then brings a pillow around to cover up how bare he is, and House just rolls his eyes, turning back to the kitchen, as Chase tugs on trousers and searches for his shirt. "I think you should have been a therapist, I dreamt about my dad last night, faced all the worst memories. They don't...seem so bad anymore," he slides on his shirt, doing up the buttons quickly, and House hums "I mean, worse things have happened to people right? It's not like I was tortured by him," he picks up his tie, searching for a mirror, but not finding one, so uses the glare from the TV to fasten the knot, and he frowns "Do you have a hair brush I could borrow?"

House points to his short hair "'Fraid not, little wombat."

Chase grimaces, running his fingers through his hair worriedly, but House chuckled "You look fine. Anyway, where you rushing off too, it's Sunday?"

The blond frowned, and then grinned "Oh yeah," and he jumped back onto the sofa, flicked on the TV, and scrolled for some cartoons. 

"Cereal?"

"Oh yeah? If you don't mind,"

"No trouble," House poured himself a bowl, and handed Chase the other, slumping into his armchair, trying not to think about how domestic this felt. "So," just to House is up "Why did you sleep here last night?"

Robert pressed his lips together, turning to look up at his boss "Would you accept my honest and simple answer of...I don't like being alone in my apartment?"

House appraised him for a long moment. "Sometimes the simple answers are the best."

The rest of the day was....something else. Till noon the two of them stayed in, watched cartoons, and then they went to Chase's apartment, where he apparently had food, and he made House lunch, which turned out to be a complete disaster so they ordered a pizza and played videogames, and House tried to talk them into watching porn together, just to see the look on Chase's face. And then, House told chase to bring a suit for tomorrow, that he could stay at House's place, because he knew too what it felt like to be alone. 

Chase happily agreed, and got comfortable on the sofa. 

He woke up early that Monday morning, and had his shower, cleaned up after himself, and made them both breakfast with the supplies they'd brought. House arched his eyebrow, as he slid on his brown jacket "Wow, breakfast ready, I knew I married you for a reason, honey,"

Chase rolled his eyes, taking a forkful of eggs "Don't be rude," he said without any meaning "We gotta get going, I have an hour to serve in the clinic,"

"Boring."

"I don't do it by choice."

And Chase drove them in, complaining about House's old car, they walked in together, but no one thought anything of it. 

...  
...  
...

That Monday had been going surprisingly well, until the early afternoon, when Chase, Foreman and Cameron were discussing theories when House did it. 

"Right okay, Foreman, get the MRA of her lungs, Cameron, talk to the husband about trips to Asia, and my pretty little boy over there," Cameron and Foreman frowned at the nickname but Chase froze. Body stiffening and he looked at House with wide, hurt, betrayed eyes. Pretty little boy? What was he doing? "You're gonna add an adephetamine drip."

"I..." Chase couldn't speak, but he stood up, mouth still slightly agape, as he stared at House "Okay." And he walked out. Cameron shrugged and followed him, but Foreman crossed his arms, arching a dark eyebrow, blue shirt matching his tie. 

"Pretty little boy? Why don't you just call him your Australian sweetheart?"

"What? He's the youngest, the prettiest, and he is a boy, right Foreman?"

The black man rolled his eyes, and walked out. 

...  
...  
...

Chase and House were the only two people in the operating theatre aside from the patient, who lay unconscious below them, as Chase stitched up the wound, green surgical mask around his face. House cleared his throat and Chase made a sound of recognition, though he didn't look up from the wound, focused, like any good doctor while House tried to distract him. "You are so pretty." Chase paused, he looked up, and now House could focus on his eyes, without the distraction of the rest of his face

"I get it. You've made a fool of me. Awesome. I need to finish this." He sounded calm and cool but his eyes still glimmered. He was genuinely upset. He had trusted this man, confided in House. 

"But you are," he leaned over, and tangled his fingers in Chase's hair as the younger man glared daggers at him "So. Incredibly. Pretty."

...  
...  
...

They ended up having to stay at the hospital that night, monitoring the patient, and House did it again and again, until Chase marched into his office, white coat floating out behind him like a cape, adding to the drama. "What the hell is wrong with you?" he cried "When did you become such a jerk?! Stop it! Just stop it, alright! You've got a rise out of me! I can't stand it!" He glared at House, but then saw that the man wasn't giving in, he slumped in the chair opposite House's, his tone became softer "Please, House," he whispered, strands of hot blond hair falling into his forehead "I really can't take it."

"I'm not gonna stop calling you pretty,"

Chase slammed his hand on the desk "House!"

"How do you feel when I call you a pretty boy? Huh? What do you think?"

"I think of what a selfish, inconsiderate ass you are!"

"So who are you not thinking of?"

"What?"

"You're not thinking of your dad, are you?" He challenged, standing, watching as realisation dawned on Chase's face, he walked towards the door. "Exactly. Let me make the name nothing more than a joke."

"Oh....wow..." he turned to apologise, but House wasn't there.

...  
...  
...

House smirked when there was a knock at the door, and he opened it to see Chase, holding a pizza and a 6 pack of beer. "I'm sorry," House rolled his eyes, opening the door and gesturing him inside. They ate pizza, drank beer, and made out on the sofa, Chase moaning deliciously into his mouth. Tasting of pizza and something distinctively Chase. They stumbled into the bedroom, and Chase rode House for all he was worth, sinking down onto his throbbing, leaking cock, making delectable mewling sounds, before they both came, and collapsed in cool, crisp sheets. 

House woke up in the morning, to see Chase snuggled into his chest, so he turned off his phone, and went back to bed. 

...  
...  
...

EPILOGUE 6 MONTHS LATER 

"I'm just saying," Chase rolled his eyes, as they walked down the street at night, after a long, agonising day at the hospital "Maybe we should get Wilson a birthday gift. And I mean, something real. Not a porn video or something lame. Something cool. Like...Dance Dance 5." House rolled his eyes, and stopped, turning to face him. "What?"

"How long have you wanted a haircut?"

Chase bit his bottom lip, sighing "A couple of weeks."

"And you're what? Waiting for me to drive you to the salon? Recommend a look? Do it for you-"

"I was afraid you wouldn't like it." Chase said quietly "I want it cropped short. And maybe...a slight beard."

"Trying to look like me?"

Chase frowned, thinking about it "I hadn't thought so..."

"Hey, idiot," House flicked him in the forehead "You're gonna look like Prince Charming no matter what you're hair colour. I'm not gonna think of you any less," he kissed him harshly, briefly "Besides, I'm totally not with you just because of your stellar good looks."

Chase laughed "Totally."

House appraised him a moment long, before they both started walking again, nice and slow under the starlight. House rolled his eyes when Chase took his free hand and locked their fingers, but he didn't pull away. "Where can we by Dance Dance 5 then, my little Aussie?" 

Chase kissed his cheek, like a love struck teenager, he was always extra mushy when he was with House, ironically enough. He smirked triumphantly "It's at home, already wrapped."

"Marry me."

"The rings are right there too."

House grinned, nodding "I'd look mighty fine in a tuxedo. And who knows, you might look alright standing next to me." He tightened his grip slightly on their clasped hands, and Chase beamed. "We're gonna have to operate on that woman tomorrow. 93% chance she'll die,"

"I know,"

"You wanna hold the scalpel or the endoscope?"

"Who's turn is it?"

"I can't remember,"

"Fine, first one to orgasm tonight has the scalpel."

House rolled his eyes "You purposely picked a bet you're gonna lose?"

"Well duh, I love operating," he tiptoed, kissing under House's jaw "Plus, now you have to make me cum first. Really a win win,"

"My, my Robert, someone obviously taught you very well."

"It was my therapist."

"Sounds like a very wise man."

"He is, we're getting married in two months. I already booked a church."

"Your therapist may not like that, he's not a very religious guy."

"Yeah, well he owes me. He punched me in the face once."

"...I knew you were never gonna let that go."

**Author's Note:**

> thank you for sticking it to the end :) 
> 
> Please comment!  
> x


End file.
